by N. M. Howell
I couldn't decide if I wanted to run and hide behind my housemates, or if I wanted to go up and help Mrs. Brody. I decided I would go investigate the door so at least my lovely landlady wouldn't die trying to protect me.
My mind made the decision, but my body wouldn't follow. I was frozen in fear and couldn't bring myself to walk towards the door. I cursed myself under my breath for my weakness. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to anyone here because of me.
I finally managed to shake myself out of it and stepped forward to join Mrs. Brody in front of the door, grabbing the carving knife off the table on the way.
I jumped back and nearly screamed when the door shook and a loud bang sounded from the other side. I squeezed my eyes shut and took three deep breaths to steady myself.
Sarah was whimpering behind me, and I could hear Peter try and quiet her. She really wasn't helping anything. I tried my best to ignore her and started reciting the twelve days of Christmas in my head to drown her out.
When I finally opened my eyes, I took in a deep breath and stepped towards the door. I placed my left hand on the door handle and held the carving knife up with my right. I glanced back at my housemates and then to Mrs. Brody, who was standing strong beside me. She nodded to me and counted down from three.
On one, I twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open.
Everyone behind me screamed as a long shadow darted across the room.
“Oh my gosh, seriously!” I shouted.
I exhaled my breath and let out a nervous laugh.
I turned back towards the scared crowd behind me and shook my head. “It was the damned cat.”
Mrs. Brody looked amused then disappeared into the back room. The tension in the room eased and everyone began laughing.
“That doesn't explain the lights, though,” Rory said.
“And lock that door!” Bailey exclaimed. “We're still not safe until we find the murderer.”
Jane ran towards the door and closed it, then locked it and slid the small side table in front of it. I laughed at her, as the table really wouldn't stop anyone from coming through if they managed to break the lock.
She shrugged at me, obviously not caring. Whatever helped her sleep at night, I thought.
The lights came back on, and Mrs. Brody stepped back into the room. “The Christmas tree and the cooking must have blown a fuse,” she said.
I sat down in my chair and held my hand over my heart.
“No more death scares tonight, okay?” I asked. “Can we just have a normal holiday, for once?”
Bailey laughed. “Fat chance of that happening.”
The shadow darted across the floor again, and Soot came to join us in the Kitchen.
The cat meowed, and for a moment I tried to pretend that, for once, I could pass a normal holiday in this town without having to deal with someone dying.
6
I could barely move after stuffing myself with so much good food. It had been ages since I'd eaten a meal like that.
We used to make big turkey dinners for Thanksgiving when I was a kid, but that all stopped when I moved to New York. I attempted a turkey once in my small apartment in the city, but I ended up burning it to a crisp and ordered Indian instead. The gravy turned out okay, though, even if it was from a packet.
I ate it by the spoonful for a week. Don't judge me.
Jane put on some more Christmas music on her laptop, and we all lounged in the living room together to digest. Mrs. Brody brought out a bottle of port and poured each of us a small glass.
The tawny liquid warmed my blood instantly. I wasn't used to drinking this much, and it was going straight to my head.
Now that everyone had settled and we knew we weren't being attacked by a monster through the door, we could spend some time to really get to the bottom of Sarah and Peter's mystery.
We didn't have much of a choice, given the fact that they were there to warn me about my impending murder. We either spent the night solving their murder, or I risked being murdered myself. I didn't much like that last option, so I did my best to concentrate and focus on the issue at hand.
“Do you remember who sent the invitation?” I asked finally as the ghosts settled in next to the Christmas tree.
Peter thought for a moment then shrugged. “No idea, I don't even know if I really paid attention to that.”
I raised my eyebrow. What a typical guy thing to say. I kept my mouth shut, though, as I didn't want to come across as rude. By the expression on Sarah's face, I imagined his lack of “paying attention” was a bit of an issue between them.
“So, you just went to an event without knowing who invited you or knowing what it was?” Jane asked after I didn't say anything further. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, and she looked unbelievingly at him. “You just... went?”
He shrugged again. “There are always so many events, I didn't even think about it. This one was honoring retired cops. Of course, I went. I remember really, really wanting to go, actually.”
“Do you think someone knew you were going and was waiting for you there?” I asked. “Maybe someone who also got an invitation or who knew of the event some other way?”
“I don't know.”
I sighed. My head was pounding, and I was starting to lose my patience a little bit.
“You must remember something else. Did you make it to the event? Do you remember anything after leaving your house?”
“He said he doesn't know,” Sarah snapped. She was beginning to look frustrated as well.
I sighed. “I know, I'm sorry. You can't blame me for asking questions. You did come to warn me about my impending death, remember?”
Sarah looked down at her feet and mumbled an apology. “You're right. Sorry.”
“We really are here to try and help you,” Peter said. “I don't remember much, but for some reason I remembered your name. You were easy to find - your name is on every paper in town.”
“And in most papers outside of town, too,” Sarah added. “You were the one who wrote the piece about the murders here a while back. I remember reading it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I was.” I had tried to block those memories from my mind. It was never fun writing about people dying, especially not someone from your own town. And especially not when it was someone you knew.
“I still don't understand what I have to do with any of this,” I said. Nothing was making sense and it seemed too random to really take seriously.
Bailey came to sit next to me on the couch. “We'll figure this out. With any luck, it will all have been a misunderstanding.”
I nodded. She was probably right. “I hope so. It would be really nice to get out of the house. I'm starting to feel a little trapped.”
Sarah sighed. “I'm so sorry. I wish we remembered more. Maybe if we do more to trigger our memories? The Christmas stuff seemed to work, let's do more of that.”
As if on cue, Rory jumped up out of her seat with a huge smile spread across her face. “I know just the thing!”
She bounded out of the room before anyone could say anything and returned a moment later with a handful of Mrs. Brody's old, saggy socks. The pile of dull fabric hung from her hands as she waved them around excitedly.
“I'd be careful what you do with those, dear,” Mrs. Brody said. She wiggled her own pink polka-dotted stockinged feet. “You don't know where those have been.”
I stared incredulously at Mrs. Brody's wiggling feet, then looked pleadingly up to Rory. “Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing,” I said.
“Stockings!” Jane exclaimed and jumped up to take some from Rory.
“You guys are nuts,” I said as I shook my head. “And gross.
Mrs. Brody's socks were far from festive. Long and saggy with more holes than polka-dots.
Rory began handing them out to everyone and was met with looks of disgust.
I threw my hands up in surrender when she tried to hand one to me. “I'm not touching t
hat thing.”
“It's tradition to hang stockings on the fireplace for Santa Clause.”
“Nope,” I said. “That's gross. I'm not hanging any stinky socks over the fire.”
Bailey laughed and rolled her eyes. “Don't be ridiculous, guys. Do you honestly think we don't have real stockings?”
She got up and walked towards the door that led upstairs. She glanced back to Mrs. Brody before opening the door. “Is it okay if I go up?”
Mrs. Brody nodded. “Bring back-up, just in case.”
Mrs. Pots bounced up. “I'll go with you.”
The two bounded up the stairs and disappeared, only to return a moment later with armfuls of large red, white, and green things.
“Now these are stockings,” I said as Bailey handed one to me.
I laughed as I inspected the thing. It appeared to be hand-made. I wouldn't expect anything less from our Bailey. Mine had my name written on it in gold glitter paint, with little silver bells sewn on. On the back, she had painted a cup of coffee and a bunch of cats. It put Mrs. Brody's gross old socks to shame.
Where she found the time to do this sort of thing, I had no idea.
We took turns laying the stockings in front of the fireplace. Jane had attempted to hang hers from the mantle, but the end caught fire from a spark and after an eventful few minutes with the fire extinguisher and Mrs. Brody's attempted help by flinging eggnog on the fire, we quickly decided to lay them on the ground, instead.
“Pass me your laptop,” I said to Jane after the whole stocking fire fiasco had settled down.
Jane handed me her laptop, and I began reading more into the missing persons reports online. There had to be something linking them all together. It seemed too much of a coincidence that so many young couples went missing at the same time of year, all around the same areas. I doubted they were all just escaping the holidays.
I re-read through all the articles Jane had open, and the girls continued singing carols in the living room. Sarah joined in with the singing, and apart from the strange looming feeling that someone was out there wanting to kill me, I was actually beginning to enjoy myself.
I tabbed back to the article about Peter and Sarah. Both were in their early thirties, outdoorsy, social, loved camping - or so the article claimed. There was no mention of anything that would suggest they would be the target of a murder. They were just two young adults who left town and didn't return.
I inputted their names into Google to see what other information I could dig up on them.
Peter’s story seemed to check out. I found an old Facebook event about the retirement party they mentioned.
“Wow, two-hundred people RSVP'd to your retirement party on Facebook. You must have been popular,” I said.
Peter laughed. “I grew up in three different small towns. Everyone had to show up, apparently. No one believed I was retiring so early.”
“Three towns? Why so many?” I asked.
Peter shrugged. “My parents traveled a lot for work.” He paused at the memory of his parents and looked down to his feet.
“I'm sorry,” I said. It must be hard coming to terms with your own death, I imagined. I really hoped I wouldn't have to find out first hand.
“Sarah, you were a gardener?” I changed the subject away from his parents.
Sarah beamed at me. “Yep! I was going to open my own nursery. I've loved plants my whole life. There's just something about nature that makes me so happy.”
Her words seemed to have brightened Peter up. A wide smile spread across his face.
“Remember the time we went camping in Martha's Vinyard?” he asked.
Sarah laughed. “Yeah, and we got chased away by the person who owned the property. Turns out you're not supposed to set up a tent just anywhere.”
“Just as well. Remember how wet and cold it was? We wouldn't have survived the night in that tent, anyway.”
“Won't have to worry about being cold now, I guess.” Sarah offered a partial smile and reached her hand out to Peter.
I was glad that they at least had each other as spirits. I wasn't quite sure how it worked, but I suspected they would be much happier lingering in this world together as a couple.
“It's great you guys are beginning to remember so much,” I said. “Do you remember anything further about the night of your murders?”
They both quieted for a moment, and Peter shrugged. “I'm sorry, nothing. But I'll keep trying. I think whatever it is you guys are all doing is working.”
“I knew it would,” Bailey sang from the middle of the room.
She, Rory, and Jane were dancing circles around each other to a 90's compilation Christmas CD. I thought I recognized Britney Spears. Not that I would admit that out loud, or anything.
I turned my attention back to the laptop and tried to see if there were any more missing persons reports that we may have missed before. Nothing new came up, but there were more articles posted about some of the ones we had found already. Letters from the families, pleading for any information anyone would offer.
We would have to let the sheriff know soon about the identities of the ghosts so he could contact their families. Their deaths would be the last thing they would want to hear on Christmas, and I wasn't sure if it would be best to inform them now, or after the holidays. Hopefully, their families just thought they had forgotten to call. On the other hand, if they knew for sure that they were missing, maybe the news would bring them some closure.
I read through one of the new articles I found on one of the other missing couples.
“James Shriver and Jerri Manson,” I read the names of two of the missing people listed on the website I had open. I turned to Peter. “Do you recognize these names?”
Peter shook his head. “Should I?”
I skimmed through the rest of the article before answering. “He was a cop in a town half an hour from where you worked, apparently.”
Peter shrugged. “Don't recognize the name.”
James Shriver had retired three months ago, according to the article. He and his girlfriend had gone missing last weekend, and no one knows of their whereabouts. The family had issued a statement, begging them to come home. There was a video circulating online. I scrolled passed it, doing my best to distance myself as best I could. It was hard enough looking these two spirits in the eyes, knowing they were dead. I could hardly bring myself to look at the photos of the other missing people, knowing full well that they have likely met the same fate as Sarah and Peter.
I cycled through the other tabs. “Huh, this is interesting,” I mumbled to myself as I read through the other articles. I hadn't caught it before, but there was definitely something linking them all together.
“Jessie Cardiff and Trevor Jackson?” I looked up at Peter.
He shook his head again. “Who are they?”
I turned the laptop screen towards them so they could see the picture. “Jessie is a retired cop as well. She's thirty-four. Retired this past summer.”
Peter raised his eyebrow. “Another ex-cop?”
I nodded and turned the laptop back towards me. I listed off more names, but he didn't recognize any of them.
“There is one ex-cop in each couple,” I finally said after thoroughly reading through each article at least two more times. “That's the link. That's what will help us figure this all out. There's no way that's a coincidence!”
The girls stopped singing and walked over to join me on the couch.
“Are you serious?” Jane asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, we need to report this to the sheriff right away.”
I shut the laptop and tossed it on the couch beside me, then pushed myself up off the couch and looked around for my phone. I couldn't remember where I left it. I suddenly felt panicked as if I was running out of time.
“It's late on Christmas Eve,” Rory said, reaching for my arm to pull me back to the couch. “He won't answer his phone. Best leave it until the morning.”
“
It'll be okay, Riv,” Bailey said. “Relax. Nothing you can do about it just this second.”
I sighed but finally nodded. “Yeah, you're right.”
I fell back onto the couch and curled my knees under me.
“Anything else besides the cop thing?” Mrs. Brody asked from across the room. She and Mrs. Pots had just finished a game of cards and were now interested in what was going on in the room again. She must have been listening, though. That woman never missed a beat.
“Nothing that I can find,” I answered. I opened the laptop again and began looking through the missing people's Facebook profiles. Surprisingly, not many of them actually had Facebook. I guessed it wasn't the type of thing you necessarily wanted if you worked for the police. Privacy, and all that.
“I still don't understand how any of this has to do with me,” I said. I yawned and stretched my arms up above my head. There wasn't much else to do but try and brainstorm, and I had a feeling it would be a long night.
I looked around the room at everyone else, but no one seemed to have anything to offer. We all sat in silence, deep in thought. Why would they come to warn me? What did I have to do with any of this?
I jumped as Sarah suddenly gasped.
We all looked up at her, and she stared down at me with wide eyes.
“What?” I asked. “Did you remember something about your murder?”
Finally, we were getting somewhere. I wasn't sure if I could pass another night not knowing my fate.
I slumped back when Sarah shook her head.
“No, but...” She paused and looked suddenly scared. Her eyes made me uneasy, and I could feel it in my stomach that what she was about to say wasn't going to be good.
Finally, she blurted it out. “Didn't you say your boyfriend is a retired cop?”
7
“Take a breath, River,” Bailey said.
I paced back and forth in the living room, dialing and re-dialing Jordan's number every time it went to voice mail.
“He's not answering,” I said frantically. “What if they've already got him?” Tears were beginning to accumulate in the brim of my eyes, threatening to fall down my face.